by Hanna Ruthie
I nod my head again. “Yup.”
She stares at me and gives me one sharp laugh. “No.”
She continues walking, pulling out her phone. I see her open up the Uber app.
“Why not?” I ask.
She ignores me, tapping around on her phone. After a minute or two, once she’s got her ride set, she puts her phone away.
“It’s a totally ridiculous thing to ask of me,” she answers, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Aw is it past your bedtime? Poor baby.”
She ignores me, taking another few steps forward, trying to escape me. I only follow her.
“I’m not doing it. Forget it Matthew.”
“You can’t-”
“No,” she says fiercely, interrupting me. “You’re not going to bully me into doing this. I just told you that I have a busy schedule. And I’m not spending my Friday night tutoring you.”
“Ohh,” I chuckle. “So this is a leisure thing. You don’t want to give up your alone time? What are your plans? Oh wait, let me guess. You’ll read some Jane Austen and cuddle up with your fifteen cats. The cats! That’s why you can’t find a roommate!”
Josie shakes her head, scoffing at me. “God, you are such an asshole.”
“Come on Virginia. Friday night, bio tutoring, it’s the most fun you’ll have all week.”
And I mean it in the worst way possible. The way where tutoring is the most exciting thing she has going on in her life.
“Why are you like this?” She asks, turning on me. “I’ve never done anything to do! All I’ve done is try to be nice!”
“Hate to break it to you sweetheart but you’re failing miserably at that right now.”
“Only because of you! You’re so mean to me! And what am I supposed to do, roll over and take it? You bring out the worst in me!”
“Oh boo hoo Virginia. For once in your life, someone doesn’t like you. Well guess what sweetheart, I’m sure I’m not the first and I sure as hell won’t be the last.”
Josie stares at me for a moment and then turns away from me. She’s hurt. And it doesn’t make me feel great to know I did it. She looks down at the ground, clutching the strap to her bag as if it’s an anchor.
“I hope you’re happy,” she says quietly, shaking her head.
I stare at her for a long minute, my brain scrambled. I really did need the help, still do need it. But I’m not an idiot. I’ve blown it. And I can’t say why. For no reason at all. For my own punishment I suppose.
Josie speaks again. “I won’t be meeting with you again this week. I’ll see you next Wednesday.”
I just wanted to get her a little riled up, but then I had to go and take it too far. Just like I always do. I had to take it from teasing to bullying. I don’t even process the things that come out of my mouth sometimes. And I don’t know what it is about her that makes me so angry. Maybe it’s the fact that every-time I say something shitty and see that look of hurt on her face, it makes me feel. It makes me feel sick. It makes my stomach clench. I makes me disgusted with myself. Everyone else, they either tell me to fuck off or they learn to shake it off. But she sticks around. She takes it to heart. And I’m realizing I don’t want her to.
I pull my car keys out of my hand. I don’t want to be here when her ride gets here. I’m afraid if I am, I’ll stand and watch her drive away. I have nothing to say to her. I’m not the guy who cares. I don’t say thank you or your welcome. I sure as hell don’t apologize. I can’t remember the last time the words I’m sorry left my mouth. I walk away from her, making my way to my truck. I toss my stuff in and start the ignition, pulling out quickly. I need to get out of here. I’m smart enough to know that I’m testing my limits with Josie. If I keep treating her the way I am, I know she’ll quit. Everyone has a breaking point. I wish I could stop myself from pushing Josie’s. She keeps bending and bending and bending and I’m just waiting for that snap. And then, she’ll be like everyone else. And she’ll leave. And I’ll deserve it.
* * *
Nightmares wrack my sleep for the third time this week.
“Don’t you remember me?” My Mother asks. “Don’t you remember your own Mother?!”
Once again I’m brought back to the feeling of being a child. I’m a little boy again, looking at his cold, dead Mother.
My hands reach out for her, touching the glass of the morgue window that separates us. “Mom? Is it you Mom? Is it really you? I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
The morgue begins to shift in my mind. Often times I wake up here, but not always. Other nights, like now, the scene transforms back to our house. It’s winter, freezing, the heating in the house turned off. I’m just walking inside from school in my last year of high school. I’m setting my backpack on the ground when I hear a clatter. It’s coming from the bathroom. I inch towards it slowly. The door is open a crack and yellow tinted light spills out. I push the door open slowly, revealing a scene of terror to my eyes.
“Ellie? Jesus!” I shout.
My Mom is slouching against the wall, a belt wrapped around her upper arm, her eyes rolled back in her head. There’s a needle on the floor, a spoon and cotton ball on the counter. Next to the spoon is a small bag of white powder.
“Damn it Ellie,” I murmur, picking up the bag.
I open it and open the cover to the toilet seat. Suddenly, Ellie lunges forward. Her hands are sweaty and hot and they wrap around my wrist. Her longs nails begin to dig into my skin.
“Fuck!” I shout, her nails drawing blood. “Stop it Ellie!”
She begins to scream. “Give it back!” She yells. Her fingers rake down my arm as she tries to get up, cutting me violently.
I work through the pain, moving the bag of crack into my other hand and dumping it into the toilet. Ellie screams impossibly louder and leans forward, sinking her teeth into my forearm. I shout and push her off of me.
“Fucking hell!” I shout.
“Do you have any idea how much that cost me?! I’ll kill you!” She yells.
She reaches out for me again and I notice the blood dripping down my arm. I shove her shoulders hard and her back slams into the wall again. She seems surprised by my strength, or maybe just that I fought back for the first time. Either way, her eyes glaze over and she stops trying to attack me. I lean close to her, looking her in the eyes.
“Listen to me Ellie, don’t ever do that shit in here.”
She sneers at me as I point my finger in her face. “You do that shit in here, I dump it out. That’s how it works. You want to do that shit, do it on the street with the rest of the trash.”
My blood is dripping on the floor, the bite marks on my skin red and inflamed.
“You’re a monster,” she snarls.
“Too fucking bad. You’re not going to die in here. I’m not putting up with that shit. You want to croak, go do it in an alley.”
She’s beginning to relax again as the next wave of the high hits her. I notice the skin caked under her fingernails. My skin. I look back down at my arm. It’s bad. It looks like I put my forearm through a shredder. Luckily all the cuts are basically surface level. I turn to the sink and run the water, washing the blood away. Then I turn back around and grab the towel above Ellie’s head, wrapping it around my arms. Her eyes are closed again, a sheen of sweat on her forehead. I pick up the needle from the ground and walk out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. Immediately I head outside and throw the needle as far into the hills of snow behind the house as I can.
My eyes snap open from sleep, my heart slamming against my chest. I fucking hate that dream. Not just because it’s a nightmare but because it’s a memory. It’s as real to me now as it was that day. I open the drawer to my nightstand and pull out my meds. I swallow my dosage dry and wait for my heart to slow down. Eventually it does, but I never manage to get the rest that I really need. It’s hard when you’re afraid of whatever lies on the other side of your eyelids.
* * *
Josie’s still
quiet when we work together on our usual tutoring date. She’s still bothered by the things I said last week. Hell, I’m still bothered by the things I said last week. And the fact that I’m bothered… that bothers me. Her silence is unnerving. And just like everything else, it bothers me. I’m basically just a ball of frustrated nerves bursting at the seams. She’s not refusing to help me. She still answers all my questions and gives me as much direction as she normally would. But she’s not nearly as chatty as she usually is. No smiles or words of reassurance. Instead, she has her nose buried in a book.
“You’re quiet,” I say.
Josie looks up at me from her book and nods. “I know I am.”
“Why?” I ask, pestering already.
Josie sighs. “Because Matthew. My Mom taught me that if you have nothing nice to say, don’t say it at all.”
What a line. It’s not her fault, and Josie doesn’t know it, but she couldn’t have more perfectly fabricated a sentence to piss me off if she tried. It has all the goods in it. A note on me always saying things that aren’t nice, a note on how she’s better than that, and then the cherry on top of the Sunday- it’s a lesson that her Mom taught her. I guess my Mom missed that lesson. If she were to give it to me, I imagine it would have been right between her transition from crack to meth.
“Come on Josie,” I say, teeth gritted, wanting to push her. “We’re not in Kindergarten anymore, you can say whatever you want to me.”
“I’m trying to be nice,” she replies.
“Stop trying.”
“Why should I stop being nice? Just because you’re an ass doesn’t mean I have to be.”
God. She’s so perfect. A little angel, to sweet too utter a single word of harm. But everyone has a breaking point and I’ve just decided, today will be the day that I find hers.
Chapter 7
Josie Virginia.
We’re only an hour into our weekly study date and Matthew’s already bearing down. He’s losing it. I swear it’s like I’m watching him unravel before me. He has so much anger in him and unfortunately, I’m the one sitting in the hot seat. I’ve accepted that it basically means he’s going to take it all out on me. But he’s been particularly out of control lately, making a point of being hurtful. And if he doesn’t watch it, I’ll go head to head with him.
“Why should I stop being nice? Just because you’re an ass doesn’t mean I have to be.”
My words must anger him because his eyes turn dark, pinning me down under their fury.
“You’re really going to let me walk all over you like that? Come on Josie, be more than a fucking doormat. Stand up for yourself.”
“This is me standing up for myself. This is who I am Matthew. You’re just playing games with me, trying to get me to become you and I’m not sinking down to your level.”
It’s painfully obvious he’s getting desperate and all I can do is shake it off. My words take the wind out of his sails. He was really counting on that one. But my dismissive remark just angers him more.
“You know what Josie? You say you’re nice, but really, you just have no backbone. You’re spineless and it makes me sick,” he sneers.
Those words really get to me. What kind of sadistic asshole gets sick from other people’s kindness? He acts as if me trying to being nice is sickening. And my sister’s sick. Actually sick. He knows nothing about the feeling of being sick. He knows nothing about what it means to be kind to someone. He doesn’t know what impact such cruelty has on people. He should spend the day in my sister’s shoes and see how frequently he’ll throw around the work sick after that. Hell, he should spend the day in my shoes and see how spineless he thinks I am after that. His words, they hit me right in the gut and heart and face and I snap.
“I’m done,” I announce simply.
I stand up, watching Matthew’s face turn to one of shock.
“You can’t be done.”
This whole time, he was waiting for me to throw it back at him, but I won’t. I won’t sink to his level, but I won’t sit here and take this abuse either.
“No Matthew, I’m serious this time. I quit.”
“You can’t!”
“I can and I will.”
I can see the frustration in his eyes. They boil with anger watching me pack up my things. He’s frantic. He doesn’t know what to do. He’s not used to people telling him no. There’s nothing he can do to stop me and it’s driving him up the wall. He looks like he wants to hit something.
“Josephine I swear to God I’ll-”
“You’ll what?” I interrupt, looking down at him. “You’ll fail bio is what. You’ll fail bio and get kicked off the basketball team. You’ll lose your scholarship and your education and for what?! All because you couldn’t be nice for five minutes!”
If my words are being registered with him at all, I don’t know. His stare at me is blank and I shake my head. I swing my backpack over my shoulder and step away from my chair. The action seems to set him off again and he stands.
“Josephine, wait.”
“Why?” I ask quickly.
“Because you… you can’t quit.”
“Why can’t I?” I ask again. “Give me one good reason why I should stay?”
Oh my God, he’s struggling with it hard, I can tell. His eyes stare at the table, his fists clenched, his teeth grinding. Why is it so hard for him to say? He can’t say something, anything nice?
“Honestly Matthew, if even you don’t know, then I should have been gone a long time ago.”
I take a step towards the door and his voice stops me.
“Because I need you,” he says.
I suppose he thinks that means a whole lot, but it really doesn’t.
“I know you need me. Have fun finding another bio tutor who’s willing to put up with you.”
That was mean and I feel a little bad about it, but he brings out the mean in me. That’s why I’ve got to get away from here, away from him. I don’t like how I am when I’m with him.
“I’m serious,” he says. “I need your help.”
“So am I,” I return. “That’s not good enough.”
He throws his hands up in frustration, grey eyes dark and stormy. He’s mad as hell.
“What do you want me to say?!” He shouts.
“You know exactly what I want you to say,” I reply. “And I’m giving you ten seconds to say it.”
I look down at my watch and count the time. In my peripheral vision I can see him fidgeting. He runs a hand through his hair, cursing loudly, frustrated. As if this is just killing him. He does this for a long time, suffering it would seem. Being tortured by the mere idea.
“Five seconds,” I announce.
As if it’s the worst thing in the world just to say…
“I’m sorry!” He relents.
I drop my watch and look up at him.
“Do you even mean it?” I ask.
“If I didn’t mean it, I wouldn’t have said it.”
“I don’t know. You’re a desperate man. Desperate times call for-”
“Josephine,” he sighs. “I meant it.”
I watch him for a few moments, taking a step back towards the table. I let my bag go slack as I slide it gently to the floor. Crossing my arms over my chest, I watch Matthew. I can’t believe it, but he is sorry. I can see it in his eyes. He’s not making direct eye contact with me and for once he seems… involved. There’s a look in his eyes, one of guilt. He seems… invested. Like he actually cares about the direction in which this conversation goes. My gosh, he really does have a heart underneath all that ego.
“Do I really make you sick?” I ask quietly.
He shakes his head, still not looking at me. “No, you don’t.”
“Why did you say it then? That’s really hurtful Matthew.”
“I know,” he sighs. “I lash out sometimes.”
“You can’t say stuff like that to me anymore,” I tell him. “That’s not okay. I’m not going to put up with it again.
”
“I know,” he says. “I’m sorry.”
He means it. He feels real, actual regret, guilt, disappointment, sadness even. I think he’s being flooded with them all at once, unsure of how to process them. He’s been hiding from them, pushing them down for too long.
“I really should have gotten it on tape.” I joke about his apology, trying my best to lighten the mood.
I swear it’s a fraction of a millimeter, but his mouth lifts in a twitch. He liked that. He thought it was funny. Damn if he hasn’t become masterful at hiding his emotions. I pick up my bag and swing it back over my shoulder. His eyes lift to my bag and look disappointed. He thinks I’m quitting. I should. If I had a good head on my shoulders I would.
“I’ll see you at seven PM sharp next week. Bring your laptop, and don’t be late,” I say.
I turn and leave, scared to see his reaction. I did what I needed to do. And I did the right thing… right?
* * *
I’m at my desk reading when my phone buzzes with a text. I bookmark my page and check my phone. It’s a text from Matthew. My stomach squeezes.
Matthew: thanks.
It takes me a minute or so to respond, pretty surprised.
Me: Wow, ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘thanks’ in the same day? You must be drunk.
I hit send and wait for a minute when my phone buzzes again.
Matthew: I wish.
Me: Thanks for what exactly?
Matthew: You know what.
Me: Not quitting?
Matthew: Right.
Me: Wow. Still a little shocked…
Matthew: yeah well, if you tell anyone I’ll deny it and call you a liar
Me: that’s not very nice
Matthew: neither am I if you haven’t been able to tell
Me: oh I don’t know. Mean people don’t say I’m sorry.
Me: And they definitely don’t say thanks
Matthew: I knew I was gonna regret this
Me: And I have it in writing too. Proof. Solid concrete evidence.